Contrition
by CycloneT
Summary: She was not ready to forgive him yet; for leaving her, for getting shot, for anything.


Title: Contrition  
Rating: K  
Summary: She was not ready to forgive him yet; for leaving her, for getting shot, for _anything_.  
Spoilers: Reference to _A Deadly Game  
_Notes: I've only recently discovered this fandom after seeing the season 2 final and rushing out to buy season 1. I'm trying to remain spoiler free until season 3 airs here so even though there is mention of Castle leaving for the Hamptons, I don't know under what circumstances he returns, so I took some creative licence.

XxX

When Beckett arrived at the hospital she was furious. It was probably a good thing that when she eventually found Castle's room he was asleep. It gave her a chance to collect her thoughts and think about what exactly she was going to say to him when he woke up. Yelling was an option that she didn't really want to exercise in a public place, so she was very carefully considering which words she could use to express exactly how pissed she was without making the paint wilt off the walls.

She pulled a chair over to his bed and was grateful that at least he wasn't buried under a mass of tubes or hooked up to a machine. His chest rose and fell of its own accord and she gained comfort from the fact that he was breathing by himself. She could see the corner of his dressing peeping out from collar of his pyjamas, and even though she was still mad at him, she gave a small prayer of thanks that at least it was a shoulder wound. It could have been much worse.

She sat down and studied him. He was pale, although after what he'd been through that was to be expected. He also looked like he was in the middle of growing a beard and she didn't like that one bit. It was hiding his face, and she wanted to see him; to see _all_ of him to make sure that he really was okay. She was just wondering if it would be inappropriate for her to pull down the sheet that covered him and examine him more thoroughly for any injuries when he first stirred, then woke.

She waited for a mew moments until he was fully conscious before she alerted him to her presence by clearing her throat. His head turned and he smiled when he saw her. She hardened her heart at that and forced herself to remain impassive. She was not ready to forgive him yet; for leaving her, for getting shot, for _anything_.

His face fell when she remained unresponsive. "Beckett. What are you . . . what are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" she asked, and even though she struggled to keep the anger (not hurt; it was anger, really) from her voice she didn't think she succeeded.

"I'm sorry," he said, swallowing heavily, like he knew exactly how much trouble he was in. "I didn't think . . . I mean, I thought I'd be out of here before you had to know."

Her fingers started playing with the edge of his sheet before she realised what she was doing and quickly snatched them back. "Is that supposed to make it better?"

"No, I just –"

"If Alexis hadn't called me would you have even told me?"

"Of course I would, I just didn't want to bother you for something that wasn't that serious."

"You get shot and you didn't think it was serious enough to _bother_ me with?"

"Beckett, please. That's not . . . I'm _shot_ here. Can't you save the verbal lashing for when I'm at least able to mount a defence."

"It's indefensible," she said with a hard tone, and although he acknowledged that there may have been a slight glimmer of truth there, he still felt the need to explain.

"You're right. It is. But I'm being released this afternoon. It was a clear through and through. There was no reason to –"

"Bother me?" she interrupted with her trademark sarcasm. He'd missed that while he was away, although he wasn't really enjoying being on the receiving end of it while he was trapped in hospital bed wearing nothing but a sheet and a hospital gown. He felt far too vulnerable.

"Worry you," he corrected. "I just thought that it was a phone call that you wouldn't want to get. Especially when it became clear that it wasn't serious."

"All gunshot wounds are serious," she objected. "But you are right about one thing. I never want to get one of those calls."

Castle relaxed a little and silently forgave his daughter for instigating this unpleasant situation. Maybe his near death experience (and no, he was not being melodramatic, even if his mother thought so) was the linchpin that would bring Beckett and himself back together again. He smiled and wondered how exactly he could bring it up.

"But you know what's worse than getting one of those calls? Not getting one, and finding out a day later that someone I care about was hurt. What if something had gone wrong and I hadn't been here? Did you even think about that?"

He forgot about linchpins as his heart started beating a little faster, because there was something in her words that he'd almost missed, something that he'd given up on while he'd been away.

His apology was genuine and remorseful when he said, "I'm sorry, Kate. The last thing I wanted to do was cause you any pain."

"When are you going to get it through your thick head that if something happens to you, good, bad or ugly, I want to know? And if you're hurt I damn sure want to know when it happens, not a day after the fact."

"I get it. It won't happen again," he said, as he reached out for her hand. He didn't really expect her to respond, but was surprised and gladdened when she did.

"It better not," she said, squeezing gently.

"I'm just not used to you caring one way or another."

"Save me from the self pity. I've always cared, and you know it. That's not going to change, even if you do seem to have bled out a few IQ points."

Castle grinned. "Ouch. But thank you. I needed to hear you say that."

"How could you doubt it?" she asked softly.

"I was shot. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"You weren't thinking at all," she retorted.

"We already established that."

"It never hurts to reiterate."

He laughed, then winced as his stitches pulled. "I've missed you," he said simply.

"Me too," she replied.

"I wanted to call you . . ."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I was scared that you wouldn't be as happy to hear from me as I was to be calling you. Especially after everything," he said, referring to his sojourn in the Hamptons and his subsequent absence from her side.

"It hurt when you didn't come back," she said, surprising them both with her honesty. "And it hurt even more when I realised that you were back, that you just weren't back with me."

"I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

She smiled softly but didn't contradict him. "You re a part of my life, Castle. A big part."

"What part do I play?"

She leant down and her lips grazed his cheek. "You're the story writer. You figure it out."

"Kate."

"Yes?"

"Are you . . . do you want . . ." He shook his head. "Am I imagining things? Am I seeing, feeling, only what I want to?"

"How clear do I have to make it?"

"Crystal. Please. I need it to be crystal."

This time she lightly pressed her lips to his, tentative at first, but when she started kissing him, _really_ kissing him, it all fell into place.

"You get it now?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because when you're released I have quite a few things to say to you and I don't want you to be under any misunderstanding about where I'm coming from."

Castle adapted a woeful expression. "You're going to yell at me, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"It's not going to go well for me, is it?"

"No."

"When you're done, will we make up?"

"Depends on how contrite you are."

"I can be very contrite."

"Then I see a happy ending in your future."

"Me too," he said, as they held hands and grinned at each other in understanding.

End


End file.
